


Where, Oh, Where

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Avon found Blake somewhere else other than Gauda Prime?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where, Oh, Where

A soft cry escaped as he awoke, the familiar despair weighing down his soul. Another lead ending in failure—Blake was not here, never had been. He rubbed a hand across his face and reached for the light control. No more sleep tonight. He stood up and made his way to the fresher, dressing afterwards in the usual black. It was the only color he could abide, now. That it made him appear forbidding and without the slightest bit of human compassion suited him and mirrored the state of his mind. He had reached the end of his options—nowhere left to go, nothing left to do.

His thoughts turned once more to the crazy old man he'd questioned the day before and the cluttered little shop filled with the detritus of a lifetime—there were beakers, bottles, and other containers, holding who knew what, stacked haphazardly around the room, with tangled piles of tubing, both small and large and other mysterious equipment. What was missing was any sign of a computer or other technology. Why he had entered the shop in the first place, he hadn't a clue, but something had pulled him in, something almost...mystical. The idea of anything mystical actually existing was stupid, suited more to Vila, though even Vila would know better than this. And, yet....

He picked up ORAC and made his way to the transporter area and set the computer to one side. Snapping on a bracelet, he gave the coordinates to ORAC, dematerialized, and then appeared in an out of the way alley around the corner from the shop he'd visited yesterday. He looked about carefully before entering the dark little store. Everything looked much the same as it had, but how would one know if any of the clutter had changed?

"Hello, Kerr Avon. You have returned, just as I knew you must. Still searching for your friend?"

Avon drew his gun, centering it on the wizened old man, who didn't so much as glance at the weapon. "Who have you been talking to?" he demanded.

"Very few people enter my shop. Very few. You were the first in ever so long. I've been thinking about your problem, and I think I have the perfect solution. Come over here and let me show you this invention of mine." The old man shuffled over to a darker corner of the store and sorted through a stack of sheets of worn...paper. "Ah, yes, yes, here it is."

After watching the man a few minutes, Avon put away his blaster and followed after him. He took the sheet of hand written material, glancing over it with total incomprehension. Invention? This looked like nothing more than a recipe of some sort, not specs for an invention. He glanced up at the smiling, weathered face. "Is this some kind of joke?" Avon's voice was quiet and deadly, his hand hovering near his weapon again.

"Certainly not. Your search is of the utmost importance and I only wish to help. Now, I do not possess all the needed ingredients for this locator to work, but I will try to direct you to the most likely places to acquire them." He made his way back to the large, cluttered table near the front of the shop. He turned toward Avon, a worried frown creasing his brow. "The cost is rather steep, I'm afraid. Will that be a problem? I have used this locator many times myself and it has yet to fail me. When I have the funds I shall use it again."

Avon followed him slowly, reading the sheet again, still not understanding. "Exactly how does this...invention work?"

"Oh, it would take much too long to explain, and I know you want to find your friend as soon as possible. Now, you must collect the exact amount of the elements listed and distil each as specified. It's extremely important that the ingredients be mixed precisely...."

**********

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?' Vila looked at Avon, trying to read the uncommunicative man. It was all very well to say you wanted to be left alone on an uninhabited world, and another to be actually left there. The lush plant life of this place was a bit intimidating—too green, too thick, too cloyingly redolent of moist earth and little creepy-crawly things. And you'd think Avon'd remember how scary that planet was where Blake had almost been 'absorbed'—still gave him the shivers.

"Of course, I'm sure."

The cold of Avon's voice sent another kind of shiver down Vila's spine. "I don't—"

"Just leave." Avon hefted the large pack he'd brought and walked off toward a nearby river.

"Good luck with...whatever," Vila called after him, but there was no answer or any acknowledgement that Avon had even heard him. "'Luck has nothing to do with it, Vila. An intelligent man makes his own luck, but you wouldn't know anything about that.' Know I'd be more intelligent than to go off on my own in a place like this." He looked around once more, then stepped back inside the small planet hopper and closed up to prepare for lift off. Crazy bastard!

Avon had always been kind of nuts—mad about everything, meaner than hell, and smarter than he had any right to be—but he'd never been suicidal, at least, not 'til after Blake had disappeared. Sometimes life was total shit. It hadn't been great before Blake left, but amidst all the danger and uncertainty there'd been a few happy times, times when they could all just be mates, share a drink and a laugh. 'Course, there'd been a lot less of that after Gan got killed, but never so bad as now—Cally gone, _Liberator_ blown up. They were like a band of scavengers, no one trusting anyone, each one thinking the others were out to get them. Got awful lonely nowadays, everyone so intense and on edge, especially Avon. And now this. He wondered if he would ever see him again.

***************

Smoke rose up from the damp wood, drifting off to the right on the slight breeze. Cold, cold, cold, he was always so damned cold. He felt like he'd been cold his entire life. No...that wasn't quite true. There'd been a time, a short time, when he'd known warmth—warmth that had radiated and filled and comforted, warmth that had burned and scalded and scarred, warmth that had banished every trace of cold. And he was going to get it back.

He opened the rip pack and carefully removed a trio of vials, an old, gold amulet, and a small silver bowl. Some of these items had cost him more than a little and had taken almost a year to locate. Even now he wasn't sure what he planned would actually work. It seemed more like sorcery than science, but the old man had sworn on the promise of death at Avon's hands that his formula worked. He'd used it himself, was trying to get the funds together to use it again. Avon was perfectly happy to provide some of those funds if he got what he wanted.

Avon built a small tripod of sticks to support the bowl, and after adjusting it for a few minutes, he was satisfied it would hold. He then placed the amulet in the bowl and slowly added the contents of each vial. A great disappointment welled up when nothing happened, and he was in the throes of terrible self-hatred when he noticed a brightening glow emanating from the gold amulet and spreading to surround him. As he waited, the glow enclosed him in a sphere which blocked out all sight and sound. There was no sense of movement, but somehow he knew he wasn't where he had been. But was he where he wanted to be?

The glow gradually faded, leaving him sitting on a rough-boarded floor, the only light the banked red embers in a stone fireplace. It was night, and he could feel the presence of another in the darkness around him. He sat still, gaining his bearings for a few minutes and then stood. A wave of vertigo swept over him, making him take a couple of steps to keep his balance.

"Who's there," a voice asked calmly, accompanied by the whir of a blaster priming.

Blake. None other could ever sound the same.

"Answer me...very quickly, unless you don't care about living."

The world tilted around him and he reached out to steady himself. "It's me, Blake," he croaked as his hand closed on a taut bicep.

"Avon? What...? Oh, my god, Avon!"

The gun was thrown down, and strong hands took hold of him, pulling him into a bear hug. The breath rushed from his lungs and although he tried to breathe he could only gasp ineffectually.

"Where did you come from? How did you get here? How did you get in? Let me turn on some light."

He was pushed away and let go, and suddenly he was blinded by the bright beam from a lantern. And in the center of that light was Blake—somewhat thinner, but the same thick curls, same soft eyes filled with intense joy. There were no words adequate to express what he was feeling. Impossible miracle...impossible, but he was here and Blake was here.

"I thought I'd never see you again, never see anyone I'd known. How did you find this place? Oh, Avon, I can't believe you're here." There was silence for a moment, then, "Are you all right? Why aren't you talking?"

Avon opened his mouth, but no words would come. He shook his head and cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't...don't...." The vertigo threatened again and he turned to the bed and sat down heavily, lowering his head into his hands.

Blake sat down beside him and reached out to touch his arm. "Avon?"

He raised his head and met the concerned gaze. "It worked," he said softly. "It actually worked." He shook his head again, a kind of wild joy taking hold of him. He placed his hands on either side of Blake's face, familiar and loved. "The formula worked." He wanted to laugh and shout and dance madly about the room, but he settled for kissing him hard, tangling his hands in the wonderful curls. Pulling back, he just looked at Blake, filling his eyes and heart. It had been such a long, desperate time. "Never again. I won't let you go a second time."

"But, Avon, you—"

He quickly covered the soft lips with a restraining hand. "Don't. I know what you're going to say, and, yes, you're right, but that's all wrong, now. We're starting over, completely. Nothing's the same, nothing." He rubbed his thumb slowly across Blake's mouth, drawing in a sharp breath as his thumb was kissed. Could he really be this lucky? Could he really have back what he'd thrown away? As Blake's mouth claimed his and he was pushed down on the bed, he let the last measure of fear go, to be wrestled with at some other time.

**************

Blake tossed the gold amulet in his hand and smiled. "I can't believe you kept this." He closed his fingers around the warm metal and held the warmth inside his heart that had nestled there since his surprise awakening the night before.

Avon looked at him across the small table where they sat eating their breakfast of eggs and tubers, and returned the smile. "You liked it."

It was something he'd worn most of the time those first years on Liberator. He wasn't sure why he'd stopped. "I thought you despised sentimentality."

Avon shrugged, pushing away his almost empty plate. "As it turns out, it's fortunate that I kept it. It was the focus for the locator formula—the bond between us that brought me here."

None of what Avon had told him about this locator made any sense—not the silver bowl, the amulet, the ingredients—it struck him much more as a formula for some kind of sorcerer's spell than a scientist's invention. "I don't think I get this whole thing. What's the basis for the locator, I mean scientific basis. How did Thrat—"

"Threndahl."

"Yeah. How did he explain it to you?" How had he convinced Kerr Avon, surely the greatest cynic in this universe, to believe him?

"Not very well, actually. I guess I was just desperate. I only hoped for something that would tell me or show me where you were, not bring me to you."

Avon smiled again, looking happier than Blake ever remembered. He returned the smile and stood up to put the kettle on. How had things arrived at this point? He'd spent the better part of two years, mostly alone, learning to accept the idea that the life he'd known was forever gone. This was a primitive world, without technology, a world where food had to be hunted or grown, sanitation was rudimentary, and communications depended on face to face exchanges. The people who lived here had probably been colonists from old Earth, but had lost contact with their planet of origin hundreds of years ago, until all that remained was an almost unintelligible kind of Earth Standard. Those who had found him had nursed him back to health and helped him build this house and outbuildings, provided seeds and stock animals, and taught him how to survive in this place. And now, suddenly, things were different.

He ladled water into the kettle from the large bucket beside the wood burning stove and placed it on the hob to boil, then turned back to Avon, who was watching him with an intensity he'd almost forgotten, an intensity that had the power to catch his breath.

"Why didn't you contact us again after that last message? You said you were on your way to Epheron, but we could never find a trace of you there." The pain in Avon's voice was still immediate.

"Because I never made it to Epheron. The ship I was on crashed here. The other two on board were killed and the ship's electronics completely destroyed. As you can see," he gestured to the crude dwelling and its furnishings, "this place isn't exactly a bastion of technical know how."

Avon visibly relaxed. Strange—it seemed so important to him.

"You thought I deliberately stayed away?"

"Something like that."

"And that mattered?" He knew he was pushing, asking for more than Avon had ever been willing to admit, but he was still a bit stunned by recent events.

"Yes, it did matter, more than I knew until Servalan told me you were dead." A bleakness filled the dark eyes and he looked away.

"Servalan?"

Avon nodded and stood up, his hands going to the small of his back as he stretched the always tense muscles. Some things remained the same. He walked a few paces and turned back, meeting Blake's gaze. "I have to tell you some...well, you've been out of contact, so you don't know the way things are now."

The kettle's whistle went off, and Blake turned to remove it from the fire, but he set it down without making more tea and turned back to Avon. "What is it?"

"Cally's dead and _Liberator_ is gone." The harsh news was delivered in a quiet, even tone that did little to disguise the hurt in Avon's voice. "It was my fault," he finished in a near-whisper, but his eyes never left Blake.

Again, his breath was taken away—Cally and _Liberator_. "Vila?" he asked softly as be moved closer, aching to hold Avon close, to feel his reality, to know at least this had not been taken from him.

Avon shook his head. "No, Vila still lives, and although I have given him ample reason to leave, he remains, still hoping for your return, I think. Jenna?"

"She's not with you? I had hoped...."

"No. She sent a message that she was all right and on a cargo ship heading for Morphenniel. But we never heard anything else and the one time we went there we couldn't locate her." There was a tense pause, then, "Don't shove this away. Cally died because I was stupid. Both she and _Liberator_ would still be here if I had been more careful." Avon pushed past him and went to stand in front of the room's one window.

Blake looked after him, knowing very well how guilt could eat at one. "You know how sorry I am to hear about Cally—she was the best person I ever knew—but no matter what happened, if you could have done anything other than what you did, you would have. I know that."

"If only that were true."

The words were quiet, but full of a kind of bitterness that he'd never heard in Avon's voice. "How long ago did this happen?" Maybe if he talked it through, he could come to terms with it.

"Awhile ago. Does it matter?"

He walked up behind Avon and rested a hand on one shoulder, waiting for him to continue.

"It was all an elaborate trap laid by Servalan to gain control of _Liberator_. She lured me there with the promise of you. She was lying, of course, but I couldn't take a chance on that." Avon covered the hand on his shoulder with one of his own. "She had set explosives to go off after she left. That's what killed Cally."

"Servalan has _Liberator_?" He couldn't help but feel sick at the idea.

"No, no...she never got the chance. I'd brought us through some kind of space field that attacked the ship with a slow growing acidic compound. _Liberator_ blew apart after Servalan was on board. I thought she'd died in the explosion, but somehow she teleported down just in time. So nothing good came of it at all."

"I'm sorry. If I could have contacted you, I would have, but this planet mustn't have anything the Federation wants. The original colonists evidently regressed technologically; there's not even electricity here."

Avon nodded. "I can see that. I don't know why I assumed you were purposefully staying away—it just seemed reasonable after...after...well, you know, those last few months...." He let go of Blake's hand to rest his folded arms on the window ledge, staring out at the early morning wilderness.

"I know." What to say or do? "Avon, I...I never meant to leave things the way they were, hell, I never meant for it to happen in the first place." He put his arms around Avon, enfolding him, warming the both of them, and kissed the back of his neck gently. "But like you said, we can change our lives, we can start again. When we get back, we can make different decisions." He felt Avon tense and turn in his arms. "What's the matter?" There was an odd expression in the dark eyes—part guilt, part sadness, part chagrin.

"Avon?"

"Blake, there's something else I haven't told you...we can't...uh...get back. There's no ship, no...nothing...just me."

"What? But...but how did you get here?"

"I don't know. I followed Threndahl's instructions and ended up here sitting on your floor with...nothing, except a silver bowl and the amulet. I'm sorry." He only looked sad, now, as he slumped against the wall. "We have no way of leaving."

This should have been a great disappointment to him, but he realized with a fair amount of surprise that he wasn't disappointed. In fact, a kind of relief was bubbling to the surface, almost a feeling of incredible joy. No danger, no responsibility, no cause, no one else to worry about—a perfect life. He reached out and took Avon by the upper arms, shaking him gently for emphasis. "I don't care. Do you hear me? I don't care."

Avon looked up, searching is face. "You have to care; the entire focus of your life has been your cause."

"I know, I know. But something, someone—I don't know what—has made sure I can't do anything about it. Don't you see? You found me, but couldn't bring a ship. This is where I'm supposed to be. And, now, with you here, everything is perfect." He gave Avon another shake. "Perfect."

"There's no science, no technology, not even," he looked around the sparsely, rather crudely furnished room, "the ordinary conveniences—and you call this perfect?"

He swung Avon around, almost dancing him across the room to the door, which he pulled open. "Look, look out there, a paradise, and no one out to kill us. There's food and water—enough for a thousand years—firewood for the winter and to cook. We'll build a bigger house; you can invent something and be the father of this world's technology. The possibilities are endless."

"Blake...."

"We'll grow old together. You'll see. Everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be—perfect."

"Blake, wait...."

He turned to Avon, still holding one arm. "What more could you ask for?"

"A computer would be nice, but I'd settle for running water and an indoor toilet."

There was a bit of the old Avon's bite in the words, which thrilled Blake. "Fine, fine. We'll start working on it tomorrow. That'll be our first invention we can barter for more furniture, unless you want to build that, too. I'll get some of the locals to help."

"You really think this will work, don't you?" The dark eyes searched his, hopeful and desperate at the same time.

"I know it will, and, besides, what choice do we have?"

"None."

"Exactly. Now, come help me pick some fruit." He threw his arm around Avon and pulled him through the doorway. The early morning sun was warm, the air clear and unbelievably clean. After almost two years, he still wasn't used to the unspoiled beauty of this place. And now that Avon was here to share it...well, what could be better?

"How do you know the food is safe to eat?"

"I don't eat anything I haven't seen the natives eat. Since they're descendents of early colonists, I figure what they can eat, we can eat, and so far it's been okay."

They continued along the pathway which ran from the door of the cabin toward a small brook, crossed by split logs. He could feel Avon's gaze on him periodically as he talked and knew he was still a bit stunned by what had happened last night. Well, that made two, but they'd be all right.

**********

"Are you sure this is where you left him?" Tarrrant's tone was doubtful.

"Course, I'm sure. I don't go around dropping m'mates just any old place. It was right here. See, there's the spot I landed. He went off in that direction." He waved his hand toward the river, looking around as if he might spot Avon someplace close. No such luck, naturally.

"I don't know why you brought him here in the first place. Why didn't you tell us? We'd have stopped him." Dayna was clearly irritated.

"Yeah, sure you would. Just like you stopped him doing every other half-assed scheme he's come up with these last months...besides, he threatened me." Vila set off in the direction in which he'd last seen Avon heading.

The same things bothered him about this place now that had bothered him before—too many green, growing things; he could almost feel little bugs crawling on him, searching out the creases and crevices. He shuddered in revulsion. Nothing would make him want to spend a night out here alone.

Topping a small hillock, Vila looked up and down the river bank, searching for any trace of his missing friend. He spotted a likely place a ways down and turned back to where Dayna and Tarrant stood. "There's something down there," he shouted.

"What is it?" Dayna called.

Vila shrugged and walked toward the dark object that looked sort of familiar. As he got closer, he could see that it was the bag Avon had brought with him. Close by were the remains of a small fire and three empty vials, but no sign of Avon. "Where'd you get to, ol' sod?" he muttered, as the other two approached.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. That's the bag he brought, but there's—"

"What's missing?" Tarrant squatted down to dig through the contents, removing a communications device, a small blaster, some protein bars, an illumination stick, and a folded sheet film, which he opened and began reading. "What the hell?"

"What is it?" Dayna came over and knelt beside him, reading over his shoulder. "What's that mean—an object of connection? I don't recognize those things, what is that stuff? What's a silver crucible?"

Tarrant shook his head. "I don't know, but maybe ORAC can tell us." He dumped everything except the film back into bag and stood. "Did you know anything about this, Vila?"

"No, what is it—a map?" He reached for the film, but it was jerked away.

"No. It's a kind of recipe for something, but I don't know what. We'll take it back to the base and see what ORAC makes of it. Come on." He hefted the bag and started back toward the ship.

"Wait a minute. You just can't walk off with Avon's bag. He might need that stuff. Put it back."

"I don't think he's still around to use it, or he wouldn't have left it here,"

"You don't know that. Put it down." Vila pulled the bag off Tarrant's shoulder and put it back where it had been.

"Oh, for god's sake! What's the point of leaving a usable weapon and communicator on a deserted planet?"

Vila ignored the derision in Tarrant's voice. The smart ass pilot might be willing to risk Avon's anger, but he wasn't—he knew better. Besides, Avon might be depending on those things, although he didn't really think he was here, either. But what had happened to him? A scary kind of depression crept over him—alone with these people with no Avon to keep them at bay. In that case he was soon going to be leaving this bunch, too. Soolin was the only one he even trusted a little bit, and she wasn't exactly the best company in the universe, even if she was pretty.

"Just leave it, Tarrant. Let's go," Dayna said impatiently. "We need to get back and find out what this is all about."

He returned Tarrant's glare until the younger man turned away and followed after Dayna. He quickly walked after them, not trusting Tarrant to wait for him if he were too slow. And he had no intention of being stuck here alone.

********  
Threndahl was an unlikely looking scientist, not what you'd expect of someone making break-through discoveries—he was old, for one thing, and seemed more than a little absent minded. But this was the man from whom Avon's notes said he'd acquired the know-how to do whatever it was he'd done. Now they were here trying to find out what that something was, but from what they'd heard so far, it sounded like a fairy tale, some hocus-pocus with potions and silver bowls. At least no one had mentioned incantations so far, but Vila wouldn't bet on it not being a part of the whole thing. But how had he ever convinced Avon that this would work?

"So you get these three ingredients, pour them in a silver bowl that contains a small object that joins you to the person you're searching for, and wait? That's it? What happens then?"

Dayna was asking the questions since she was the closest thing they had to a scientist, only Vila wasn't so sure making guns and things that blew up was really a science.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, yes, that is all. If you have made the connection, you will locate the one for whom you are searching." Threndahl turned to a bubbling beaker of purple liquid and stirred it a couple of times, muttering something just out of hearing.

Dayna and Soolin exchanged doubtful looks and then turned to Tarrant with raised eyebrows. No one asked Vila what he thought, of course, but that was no surprise.

"How do we know this will work?" Tarrant demanded of the old man who apparently didn't hear him or chose to ignore him.

Vila understood wanting to ignore Tarrant. It was a constant temptation. "If Avon thought it would work, I think we should just do it. Let's get the stuff we need and go."

"These ingredients cost a fortune. You expect to hand over that kind of money with no guarantees? It's not like we can return them if they don't work."

"But it's Avon. It's our only chance to find him. Come on; he'd do it for you." This last wasn't a certainty—in fact Vila doubted he would—but if it would help convince Tarrant, he was perfectly willing to lie his head off. He turned to Threndahl. "It'll work, won't it?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm sure you'll find him. Just follow directions, follow directions. Here, here. Take these and this one. You'll need a crucible, silver, yes, it must be silver. Do you have one?" He dug through an untidy pile of metal objects, pulling out a small, dark bowl. "Yes, here's just what you need. Polish it up a bit." He swiped at it a few times with the edge of his sleeve, and then proffered it to Vila, who was already holding the three vials.

"Uh, okay, sure." He placed the little bottles in the bowl and took everything. "Pay the man, Tarrant." He held the items carefully, heading for the door. Someone had to take charge and it might as well be him. They could argue with him later. Now, he just wanted to get back to the base and try this thing out. It had to work, just had to.

*********

"Here." Vila hurried back in from his unauthorized visit to Avon's quarters, and dropped a credit chip into the silver bowl resting on top of a display tripod.

"What the hell? You couldn't find anything except money to connect to Avon? That won't work; you don't know how many people have handled it." Dayna was practically screeching.

"Gods, Vila, how stupid are you?" Tarrant added in disgust."

"Oh, I don't know. Avon is very fond of money—this might be the perfect thing."

He smiled a thank you at Soolin. "That's Avon, all right. Besides, this is a special chip...just trust me." He sat down at the table and drummed his fingers impatiently. "Let's get started."

The others pulled out chairs and sat, too, looking a bit uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassed.

"So, what do we do first?" Dayna asked.

"Just pour the stuff from the little bottles in the bowl on top of the credit chip and wait." He picked up one bottle, uncorking it carefully. "That's one." He poured in the contents of the second and third and sat looking at the seemingly inert mixture.

After a few minutes, Tarrant slumped in his chair. "Figures."

"Don't be so fast. He said to wait, so I'm waiting." Come on—work, work!, What was taking so long? They were going to give up on it and it was their only chance to find Avon.

Soolin yawned and leaned her head on one fist. "This is a bit boring, Vila; can't you hurry the process along? Stir it with your finger or something."

"I don't know.... Threndahl never said anything about touching it. I think maybe we should just—" He broke off as a dim glowing ball of gold began spreading outward from the bowl. Transfixed by the gradually brightening sphere, he sat motionless and let himself be surrounded. The others disappeared as the glow strengthened, although he could still faintly hear their cries of surprise and alarm, but soon everything except the bright light faded from sight and sound.

He had no idea how long he spent enclosed in the sphere, but as it began to lessen, he had the strong feeling he was no longer where he had started. Tempted to close his eyes against what he might see, nevertheless he tried to identify his surroundings as they gradually came into view. Oh, great, another greeny world—would Avon really be in a place like this? He struggled to stand, fighting the dizziness that threatened to swamp him.

"Vila! Vila, is that you?"

He heard the familiar voice calling behind him, and turning slowly he saw Blake jogging toward him leaving Avon standing at the river's edge. The formula worked! Avon was here and so was Blake—well, of course, that was why Avon had searched out Threndahl in the first place. Vila grinned and returned the hug with which Blake met him, happily getting his back thumped.

"You found us!" Blake held him away a bit, laughing, and then hugged him again. "I'm so glad to see you." Letting go, he turned to Avon who was approaching more slowly. "Isn't this great?"

Vila's grin faded a bit as he met Avon's gaze, unsure of his welcome, but there was none of the bitterness or cruelty he had become used to over the last couple of years. Avon, while not smiling, looked content and at peace.

"Hello, Avon." He was surprised at the nervousness in his voice.

"Vila."

"You look good. You, too," he added to Blake. "Both of you look great. I guess this place must agree with you, huh? It's really green, y'know? Kind of like that planet I left you on, Avon. Guess you must—"

"Vila."

"—like this sort of place. Didn't know that about—"

"Vila!"

He stopped at the loud repetition of his name, looking from one to the other.

Avon reached out and took hold of his arm. "I'm glad to see you—really."

"Really?" he found himself asking. "I didn't know what would happen when we tried out Threndahl's formula, but since I didn't know what had happened to you after you disappeared off that planet, this seemed like the only chance. Glad you left those directions behind."

Avon's mouth quirked, as he raised an eyebrow and looked over at Blake who was still smiling happily. "I wondered if anyone would find that."

"But you said 'we'—is someone else going to come through?" Blake looked mildly interested.

Vila felt a bit guilty as he shrugged. "I'm not sure. I thought we'd all get here, but I guess we didn't buy enough...chemicals, or something."

"I doubt that's the problem." Avon stepped around him to where the small silver dish rested in the lush grass. He bent over and picked it up, tipping the credit chip into his palm. He smiled and handed it to Blake, who looked at it curiously and then at Vila.

"This is what connected you to us? I don't get it."

"I think the connection was to me, Blake," Avon said, humor in his voice. "It's something you wouldn't understand. Maybe I'll tell you about it someday." His smile turned a bit evil as he threw his arm around Vila and spoke in a familiar low purr. "I see it didn't take you long to break into my quarters and make yourself free with my possessions."

"Yeah, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else we shared...well, you know, something that meant something to you as well as to one of us...well, me. So I guess there wasn't any chance for the others to get here, huh?" Just as well—he wasn't very fond of them anyway, and it wasn't as if they'd miss him.

Avon let go of him and laughed, such an unfamiliar sound that Vila almost jumped in surprise. He grinned in response and watched Blake's eyes brim with love as he in turn gazed at Avon. A warmth that had been missing from his life for far too long filled his heart. Now, this was the way it was supposed to be, or as well as could be expected without the ones missing from that first year. No use thinking about that, since nothing could be done about it.

"Where do you live on this grand little world? Is there room for me?"

"No."

"Yes"

"Blake."

"Avon."

Well, some things never changed.


End file.
